


Hearts Still Beating

by megnlv



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Past Amelie/Gerard, Team Talon, mention of Mercy, mention of Reaper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megnlv/pseuds/megnlv
Summary: During the Holiday season, Widowmaker pays a visit to Gérard’s grave to pay respects to her husband. Sombra keeps her company in a moment where no one should have to be alone.Based off of Widow's panel in the new Overwatch comic: Reflections





	

He was buried just off lake Annecy in Haute-Savoie in a quaint but beautiful cemetery, nestled just adjacent to Église Saint Blaise Sevrier.

Gérard never did like grandiose things.

Fresh fallen snow blanketed the round edge of his headstone. Widowmaker was almost inclined to brush it off, but refrained from disturbing it. She clutched a single rose in one of her palms, bright red against the white of winter, a lump in her throat. Inside her chest, her heart drummed, slow, against her ribcage - heavy not in it’s beat but with a different kind of _feeling._

Grief or guilt, she could not tell. She hardly knew the difference between emotion anymore.

Her doctor’s would likely submit her for treatments if they knew, but Widowmaker had been careful, calculating, so that they did not find out. Otherwise, the Director would not have let her come; and it was important, to her, that she did.

“Joyeux Noël, mon cher,” she greeted. She lowered herself, bent at the knees, to place the flower at the base of the grave. Widowmaker spoke in their native French, quiet, though she need not be. She was alone. She had only come when she was sure the cemetery was empty. “I apologize, it has been some time since I last visited.”

That had been on his birthday on the 5th of May. She hadn’t been in France since then.

Widowmaker straightened, each hand clasped in front of her. The surface of Lac d’Annecy was grey and frozen solid, though the thin layer of ice was frail, as if it’d break under the slightest pressure. Winter had always been Gérard’s favorite time of year, and while she herself - or the woman she had once been, but was no longer - had preferred the fall, she could admire winter’s beauty.

She thought of saying more, but could not find the words to voice her thoughts, so stood as a silent vigil at his grave sight. Gérard, her sweet love, would understand.

“Hey.”

Widowmaker inhaled a steady breath through her nose and did not turn to acknowledge the hovering presence behind her. Instead, she remained stationary, save for the pad of her index finger and thumb turning over the wedding ring on her opposite hand in the pockeat of her peacoat. Smooth palladium metal. A small comfort.

“Nice place,” they continued, loud in the quiet of the cemetery. “Cold as fuck though.”

“I don’t feel it,” Widowmaker said. Her voice sounded lifeless to her own ears, weak, as if her words carried away with the wind as soon as they left her tongue. Snow crunched beneath softer footfalls as the person moved, swift, to stand beside her. Close, but not hovering in her personal space. Widowmaker inclined her head, then, watching through the corners of her eyes. “Why are you here?”

Sombra, though her shoulders were hiked up, mouth and nose buried in the warmth of a purple cowl scarf, shrugged. The brown of her cheeks were flushed red against the bitter cold, hands stuffed inside the pockets of her jacket. She stared down at Gérard’s grave with certain thoughtfulness. “I’m off to Mexico in a few hours,” she said. “Wanted to see if you’d tag along, since Gabe’s stalking his sister’s family in L.A. It’s a lot warmer over there, and we can drink all we want without paying a drop. I know a guy who owes me some favors.”

Widowmaker averted her eyes, back to the snow topped gravestone, and said nothing.

What was there to say when Sombra likely knew the answer prior to even asking?

After a beat of silence, Sombra said: “Yeah, fine. I didn’t think so.” She exhaled, raising her chin a touch. “Mind if I stick around for a bit, Araña?”

“Non.” Her answer mildly surprised her, but seemed to surprise the younger woman a great deal more. She had come with the intention of privacy, and Sombra’s presence was tolerable at best any other day, yet perhaps she just did not wish to be alone after all. “I do not mind the company.”

Her comrade, unable to stay still for very long, cautiously maneuvered around her after only a few minutes. Widowmaker, becoming rigid, trailed her with her eyes as Sombra advanced on the headstone to their left - remnants of a bouquet of roses, once vibrant yellow in color for friendship, seemed frozen to the ground at it’s base.

It was likely from the good doctor.

Pitiful.

Sombra crouched on her ankles, reached to brush away the bits of snow and ice that muddled age-old engravings with gloved fingertips. She drew back once it was clear, hand falling to one of her knees, and whistled under her breath. 

> AMELIE LACROIX (née GUILLARD)
> 
> 10 Septembre 2043 - 23 Novembre 2069

“They buried you too, huh?” Sombra questioned. Although she stood, she did not turn to look at her, but if she had she would have seen the way the fine muscles around Widowmaker’s jaw tightened. Her teeth ground together. “Empty casket funeral.”

“A formality,” Widowmaker deadpanned, voice curt. “Better family and friends believe I am dead, despite Overwatch knowing the truth.”

Sombra shook her head, finally turned to meet her gaze. The pink glow of the transdermal implants in her skull stood out like beacons against the snow. “Fucking Overwatch.” The voice dripped with acid, hissed through her teeth. “It’s just a way to cover their own asses. Sometimes I think they’re just a sick as Talon is.”

Widowmaker held her gaze steady. Her tongue felt like a stone in her mouth.

“My parents don’t have graves, you know,” Sombra continued. The somber nature of her voice alone was not enough to capture Widowmaker’s attention - it was, instead, her words. Sombra was careful to waltz around personal topics. Widowmaker didn’t care, but couldn’t say she wasn’t curious. “I don’t know what happened to their bodies. Buried under rubble, probably, because nobody gave a fuck about what happened to us either.”

“The world and it’s people are cruel,” Widowmaker said, though it lacked any conviction. Sombra snorted. “C’est la vie.”

“Tell me about him?” Sombra prompted, redirecting the conversation. She nodded toward Gérard’s grave, eyebrows quirked. “I mean, I read his files, but it was all work related. Nothing personal. What was he like?”

Widowmaker shook her head. “No,” she said, plain-spoken but polite. “I would like to keep those memories to myself.”

Sombra made a noise in her throat. “Fair enough,” she said, her tone indifferent but a flicker of disappointment in her violet eyes. “I should get going. You sure you don’t want to come?”

“I am sure.”

“Suit yourself,” Sombra responded. The younger woman cast one last lingering look at both of the graves, before striding past her.

Widowmaker watched her go, and before she could stop herself, softly said: “Merci, Sombra. For staying.”

She paused mid step and turned, surprise evident in the way her mouth hung open. There was a moment before she said anything, but, eventually, nodded. “Sure thing,” she said. Then; “Oh, and Amélie?”

Widowmaker stilled, blinking impassively at her.

Sombra, hands returned to the comfort of her pockets, took a few steps back toward the gravel pathway. “You should go and find Gabe in Los Angeles. He’ll be sulking in some alley, probably, it’ll be hard to miss him,” she suggested. Her shrug was noncommittal, and the corner of her mouth curved softly upward. “It’s the holiday’s, neither of you should spend them alone. That’s why I came here to see you.”

Without waiting for a response, Sombra raised a hand to waggle her fingers in a wave. “See you later, Azul,” she said, and was gone in a flicker of purple light not a second later.

In the silence, Widowmaker turned the thought over in her head, entertaining the proposal for a moment before making her decision.

 _Her_ decision.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, then reached to gently touch her husband’s name on his headstone. Widowmaker closed her eyes, swallowed that modicum of grief that threatened to push to the surface and wet her eyes with tears. She did not want to leave him. “Adieu, mon amour,” she breathed. “À bientôt.”

There was a transport request needed to be arranged.

**Author's Note:**

> whipped this out in like an hour because that panel had me feeling a million types of ways. Tracer confirmed to have a GIRLFRIEND? Widowmaker confirmed to still be incredibly sad about her husband? holy shit guys. Idk what to do with myself. I'm going to just keep screaming.
> 
> Also, yes, Widow does go to Los Angeles to find Reaper and yes, Angela did leave flowers at Amelie's grave (I headcanon that before Talon took her, Amelie was one of Angela's best friends, hence the yellow roses).
> 
> please leave your comments / thoughts below! I'd love to hear what you all think :) happy holigays everyone!
> 
> (find me @ madame-lacroix on tumblr!)


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